as my education
was completed.

The other girls at the school were full of spirits and enthusiastic
about the beauties of nature. I was a poor automaton. Neither lakes nor
mountains had any fascination for me. I simply lived in expectation of
the day when the bargain would be concluded.

When two years later I returned to Denmark, our engagement, which had
been concluded by letter, was made public. His first hesitating kiss
made me shudder; but I compelled myself to stand before the
looking-glass and receive his caresses in imagination without disturbing
my artificially radiant smile.

Sometimes I noticed that he looked at me in a puzzled kind of way, but
I did not pay much attention to it. The wedding-day was actually fixed
when I received a letter beginning:

"MY DEAR ELSIE,

"I give you back your promise. You do not love me.

"You do not realize what love is...."

This letter shattered all my hopes for the future. I could not, and
would not, relinquish my chances of wealth and position. Henceforth I
summoned all my will-power in order to efface the disastrous impression
caused by my attitude. I assured my future husband that what he had
mistaken for want of love was only the natural coyness of my youth. He
was only too ready to believe me. We decided to hasten the marriage, and
his delight knew no bounds.

One day I went to discuss with him some details of the marriage
settlements. We had champagne at lunch, and I, being quite unused to
wine, became very lively. Life appeared to me in a rosy light. Arm in
arm, we went over the house together. He had ordered all the lights to
be lit. At length we passed through the room that was to be our conjugal
apartment. Misled, no doubt, by my unwonted animation, and perhaps a
little excited himself by the wine he had taken, he forgot his usual
prudent reserve, and embraced me with an ardour he had never yet shown.
His features were distorted with passion, and he inspired me with
repugnance. I tried to respond to his kisses, but my disgust overcame me
and I nearly fainted. When I recovered, I tried to excuse myself on the
ground that the champagne had been too much for me.

Von Brincken looked long and searchingly at me, and said in a sad and
tired voice, which I shall never forget:

"Yes, you are right.... Evidently you cannot stand my champagne."

The following morning two letters were brought from his house. One was
for my father, in which Von